Little Addy
by Lauraeffingiero
Summary: Just why is Jane's mother the way she is? ...Meaning, you know, jerky and all. Well, you could look it up on Qubo... or you could read this fabulous one-shot! Featuring Adeline as a child! So you! Yeah, I'm looking at you! Review! Now!


**Disclaimer: **Blah blah blah. Jane and the Dragon = not mine. Whatever.

**Notes:** This is just a little something to tide over the readers on my chapter story (since it is now over two months since the last update...) and for anyone else who enjoys Adeline stories - which might be only me, since I guess they're usually kinda depressing... but I digress.

Anyway, though, I should say that I took I writer's license with this; Adeline was actually only one (I think) when her dad died, but in this I have her at around six or seven. Eh. Can't write a story about the deep thoughts of a one-year-old, so hopefully you'll understand.

As always, reviews are welcome. *coughs not-so-subtly while pointing to 'review' button*

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Her parents called her Little Addy. She was already a bit small for a girl her age, and the nickname did not help with the overall impression one had of her size – but she did not mind. Her papa said there was nothing wrong with being little, and her papa was always right.

Her family lived in a house in the village. It was not really befitting of their station (Addy had been told that she was a noblewoman – which she supposed must be something very important, though why, she did not know) but there was so much love and warmth packed into every nook and cranny that the small size was hardly noticeable.

The only time darkness descended upon their happiness was when her papa visited the king. For some reason, he did not go to the Castle to do this; he went instead to a cave deep in the mountains that she was not allowed to know the location of. Her papa said this was because the king at the Castle was not the real king; the crown he wore was not his, and neither was the throne he sat upon. They had both been stolen from the rightful king, who was in hiding.

Addy was not sure what that meant; all she knew was that as she grew past the age of six and moved steadily into seven, and started learning to be a lady, so did the talk of the rightful king become more common in their happy little house. She ignored it all, and just sat silently with posture that improved daily, working on her embroidery so that she could be a good wife to whatever knight she would one day marry – for since her papa was a knight, and the best of men, a knight just like him was what she wanted when she grew up.

Then one day her papa said he had to go. Go where? she asked.

To get the king his crown back, he said.

Why not just make him a new one, Papa? she wondered.

But it was not that simple, he said, and then he picked her up and bounced her in his arms, and said that she was not so little anymore, his Addy; she was a big girl now, and he was so proud of her. And then he wiped at a funny little bit of shine in his eyes, and explained why he had to do this thing that would take him away from her.

He used large, confusing words like valor, and integrity, and oath, words that sounded so wonderful they made her heart sing to hear them; but in the end, the exact words he used made no difference. The only thing that mattered was that, only a few days after he had thrown her in the air, and made her squeal with joy, they told her that her papa was dead.

The bravest of men, they called him at the funeral. What a comfort to his widow and only child that he had died in such an honorable manner.

But the words meant nothing to Addy. All she could think, clinging tight to her mother's hand, staring through tear-blinded eyes into the grave that held part of her heart, was that her papa had lied. All those pretty words he had used had been lies; even worse, the ideals those words represented were all lies as well, because an ideal is supposed to last forever, but they had not, they had not lasted at all; her papa had taken them all with him when he had gone to Heaven.

And so Addy decided right then and there that the knights could keep their stupid, empty ideals. She wanted nothing more to do with either of the two. When she grew up, she would not marry a knight, and if she had sons, not a single one of them would be knights either. She would never look at the family members around her and wonder if they would still be there the next day. Her children would be taught good, solid things like baking and sewing, and nothing of ideals that sounded so beautiful and only ever caused pain.

Keeping this promise to herself, Little Addy grew up (as children are wont to do) and married a chamberlain who had a smile that made her heart sing more than any pretty lies ever had.

She began to worry then, if she would have a son – who would, undoubtedly, (as all boys do) wish to be a knight. It was really a perfectly reasonable wish for a nobleman's heir, and it would be a fine thing – except that her heart could not take the pain of never knowing whether the next day would bring another knock on the door; a solemn face… words put together in a combination that no one ever wanted to hear.

But, as it happened, Addy did not have a son. In fact, she had a beautiful little girl, just one little girl, whom she called Jane.

And when she held her daughter for the first time against her chest, and ran a wondering finger over her soft, pale skin, she knew then that her heart was truly safe – because, as absolutely everyone knows, girls cannot be knights.


End file.
